


all my sins remember'd

by aphrodite_mine



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue gets burned. Pyro knows a thing or two about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all my sins remember'd

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to beta prozacpark. Some cursory knowledge of [Carol Danvers](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ms._Marvel) may help in this story, but is not necessary. For mjls.

\--

She wakes up to her name echoing with increased intensity and a warm hand on her cheek.

No, not warm. Hot. Leather.

"It's Marie now," she mumbles, her tongue feeling strange in her mouth, leaning without meaning to against the steady touch. "You should call me Marie."

"Rogue," he says again. "Look at me."

She does, his face filling her vision, focusing in and out. John, she thinks. Pyro. She starts to correct him again, but he frowns. His eyes look kind, not how they used to.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Her stomach drops.

\--

It comes back to her later, much later, what happened.

Pressing her hand to her mother's, smiling through the pain of seeing fear so tightly laced across a face that used to love her.

Starting over, again, in a little apartment in Jackson. Not checking the box marked _Mutant_ on the application, the box listed after _I have been convicted of a crime_ and _I have previously gone by another name_. She doesn't check that one either.

Taking boys home and sleeping naked, just to feel, feel, feel them against her skin.

Waking up and not looking twice at the drawer she still keeps for gloves and scarves, putting on a short skirt, a sleeveless blouse. Catching her reflection in a mirror, her shock of white hair flashing in the sunlight.

Ordering a drink from a bartender ("Carol," she says, pointing to her name tag, rolling her eyes. "But you folks don't come here to talk about me.") and drinking it down. Taking the refill, her fingers grazing with the bartender's, not letting go, not letting g--

Flying.

\--

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asks again, helping her up, taking her hand in his, heat radiating through the leather gloves he wears.

"Where am I?" she asks instead, trying to get her eyes to focus. Her head. The pressure is blinding.

They're in a small room. Tan walls, two doors (one ajar), a small window. An apartment, maybe? The carpet has left patterns on her knees. There's a picture hanging on the wall across from her: a girl in water, floating.

 _Ophelia,_ she thinks, backing up quickly into a wall, sinking back down to her knees. _To see what I have seen,_ she thinks, staring down at her shaking hands. She's never read _Hamlet_ , but can picture it, creased and worn, on a shelf she's never owned.

"It happened, didn't it?" she says out loud, not quite gathering the courage to look into his face, to see his sad, worried eyes on her. She feels it in the way her skin itches, in the knowledge that her body knows far more than she herself.

"It happened." He's next to her, solid. He doesn't leave when she starts to cry.

\--

He looks weirdly natural in the kitchen, in this place she's probably been for weeks but doesn't recognize. A few false starts, and he finds tea, sets water boiling with a snap. She must be staring, because he turns, shrugs. "I hear this shit calms you down."

The hot mug in her hands does feel soothing, and maybe it's the faint scent of lemon or John tugging at his gloves, laying them on the table between them, but she feels a little better, a little clearer in the head.

"We're in Memphis," he starts in, taking a moment to catch her eyes. "When you didn't check in with Ice Fuck he called me up, said he heard we had a telepath, and could I do him a favor." He doesn't offer an explanation for how or why Bobby had his number, how or why _we_ tracked her down. She doesn't ask. "For someone who obviously isn't getting any, dude was pretty worried."

She blows across the mouth of the mug, steam rushing back towards her. "He made me promise to call the mansion at least once a month. He even argued that I should stay." She shrugs. "I guess I should have."

"It's not your fault they lied to you. They lied to everyone."

She pushes her lips together. "Maybe no one knew. Everyone's not always out to get you, you know."

"Assuming they are just means I'm prepared when they do."

\--

They sit quietly for a long time, John occasionally standing up to look out the window, flicking his lighter, coming back. He touches her each time, small, harmless touches. Her shoulder. The back of her head. Her knee.

She doesn't feel quite so terrified.

She settles against the wall, sets her drink down. "Thanks. I should say thanks, right?"

"You don't have to say anything."

For a moment, he looks like he doesn't know what to do with his hands, then cracks a smile, reaches for her anyway. _No_ , she thinks, and then her hands out, against him, and he is on the floor, blinking.

 _A gentleman should ask permission,_ she hears herself think, doesn't recognize the voice.

"Oh, god."

\--

Carol settles in, and pieces come back.

Marie digs through the kitchen drawers and comes away with a handful of ibuprofen. "She's loud."

"And strong, apparently," John smirks, rubbing his shoulder.

She takes more than she should, willing the protests to a dull roar. "Only you would laugh about this." She remembers the feeling of sharp, cool air rushing between her fingers. Looking down with a gasp and a smile.

She wonders if Carol is dead. She feels so alive, knocking at the skin that contains her.

\--

Marie lies down. She wishes she had a cigarette. John leans against the door frame.

"What were you supposed to do when you found me?" she asks, curling her knees toward her chest.

He smirks again, takes a step towards her. "Guess Bob forgot about that part." He sits in the space left by her feet on the cot. "It's a shame our paths didn't cross earlier."

She feels the air on her skin and shudders. "I'm sorry they didn't."


End file.
